


White Christmas

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: XXX-mas [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Christmas, Come Eating, Felching, M/M, Minor Injuries, Rimming, Santa Claus - Freeform, Surprise Knotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2990795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you think about Santa on top?"</p><p>Stiles froze, heart stopping a little. </p><p>His dad sent him a look over his shoulder. "For next Christmas?" he prompted. "Santa on top?"</p><p>"I, uhh... I was actually kind of hoping for sooner than that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> They say that sequels are never as good as the original. This is no exception.
> 
> This one fought me til the end. Hope it doesn't show too much.
> 
> Notes on injuries, surprise knotting, and language below.

It was just past noon on Christmas. There was still coffee in the pot, so Stiles poured himself another, feeling spent from his early morning activities. He could hear holiday music playing softly in the living room, and he slipped his hand in his pocket to finger the little slip of paper Santa had left for him in his stocking. He bit his lip to keep from smiling like a dork and doctored his coffee right before taking it into the next room.

The Sheriff was looking intently at the tree when Stiles wandered in.

"What do you think about Santa on top?"

Stiles froze, heart stopping a little. What did he think about Santa on top? He was all for it. He'd been thinking about it nonstop for hours - excluding the time spent thinking about topping Santa instead. He wanted Santa in all the positions - but how did his dad know that?

His dad sent him a look over his shoulder. "For next Christmas?" he prompted. "Santa on top?" He made a gesture in front of him that Stiles didn't follow.

"I, uhh... " Stiles tried to process, feeling himself start to blush. He couldn't believe they were talking about this - and how did his dad _know?_ Did Derek tell him? Was this part of the mandatory Santa-Parent disclosure? "I was actually kind of hoping for sooner than that."

The Sheriff's brow scrunched, a look of mild confusion spreading across his face. "Why would we do it sooner? The tree isn't going to stay up for that long."

Stiles stared at him. "Okay." he admitted, "I'm lost. What are we talking about?"

His dad huffed, one hand coming to perch on his hip while the other waved at the ornament on the top of their Christmas tree. "The star, Stiles! It's getting old. I was thinking we could retire it - maybe find a Santa on clearance for next year."

" _Oh!_ " Stiles cried, and nodded a little over-fervently. "Sure! Yeah, we'll keep an eye out. Yeah, great idea."

Sheriff Stilinski eyed him suspiciously and walked out of the room, gazed fixed on his son as if trying to figure him out. Stiles sighed in relief once he was out of range and slumped down on the couch where he'd topped Santa just hours before. He listened to his dad start making lunch and pulled out his cellphone and Derek's number.

He wanted to write him something filthy - or at least flirty - or at least a message that mentioned how much he liked and wanted to see Derek again. But everything he tried felt awkward and wrong. His gaze drifted around the room for help and found a lone, discarded, red Santa hat.

He typed: **You left your hat at my place** and, then, as a second message afterthought, **Hi this is Stiles :)** He knew the smiley face was risky, but he had a good feeling about it. He drank some coffee and tried not to stare anxiously at his phone. He got a response almost immediately.

**_Hey. sorry. I can come by and get it or you mail it to me. Or you can just keep it. Whatever you want._ **

Stiles snorted, grinning, and put his mug down on the side table. **Of course you can come by and get it you giant dork. I'm expecting you to come over again soon**

**_Oh._ **

In the kitchen, Stiles could hear his dad's cellphone ring. **So, I've been wondering, do you celebrate xmas with your family? Or is there a conference of santas every year at the marriott/local conference hotel with a big dinner/business meeting?**  
 **Also can i meet your magic sleigh wolves?**  
 **Do they talk????**

"Stiles." his dad called.

**_You can meet them, if you want.  
Wolves can't talk._ **

"Yeah?" Stiles called back, but his dad didn't say anything else, so he figured he was being hailed and got up, grumbling.

"Yeah?" he repeated, walking into the kitchen. The Sheriff was lacing up his shoes, and he looked a little guilty, which was especially bad on Christmas. Stiles's face fell and he felt a rising wave of hurt that he tamped down. "You have to go in?"

"Sorry, bud." and he slid on his heavy coat. "I know this happened last year - and the year before - but - "

"No, I get it." Stiles said, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at it feet to compose himself. "Duty calls. I get it." His dad paused, laying a hand on his shoulder. Stiles brought his gaze up and gave him a weak smile. "Really, it's fine. I've got a super important, badass dad - and with super important, badass dad's come responsibility." His dad didn't smile, just gave him a small squeeze before letting go to find his keys. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

"Not until late, I think. Maybe you can go over to Scott's? Melissa was happy to have you last year."

"Yeah," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his head, swallowing down another wave of disappointment that was building. "It's just that - you know - Mr. McCall's back." His father instantly nodded. "They probably want the day to themselves." He shrugged a little.

The Sheriff paused one more time. "I'm sorry, Stiles. There's the making for grilled cheese on the stove; soup's in the cabinet. I'll try to be home before midnight."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

His father clasped him on the back one more and walked to and then out the door. Stiles rubbed at his eyes and felt so _stupid_.

He looked at his phone.

**_I don't really celebrate Christmas._ **

Stiles stared at the message for a couple seconds longer - and it was clear what needed to happen. He just had to work up the courage. He took a deep breath.

**Where are you right now?**

* * *

Turned out that it didn't matter where Derek was. Either his high-speed, Christmas magic traveling power extended to other days of the year or he was staying in town. All it had taken was one text of **My dad had to go to work. Come over and spend xmas w me** and Derek was coming to his aid, knocking on his door, saving the day.

Stiles opened and could not believe his eyes.

He didn't know what he was expecting - but a powder blue v-neck under a leather jacket was certainly not it.

"What are you wearing?" he gaped, heat rushing to his cheeks. He licked his lips, mouth parting open with his shock.

Derek shot him a look. "Clothes."

"I can see that. Normal-person clothes." Derek's eyebrows raised exponentially. "I'm sorry - I'm just not used to seeing someone this hot wear clothes people at the mall would wear. You have to give me a second."

"Can I come in?"

"Oh, absolutely. Just be quick about it. Don't want my neighbors to see you and think I've taken up with some leather-wearing, Mall of America hoodlum."

"I'm sure your reputation will remain unscathed." Derek told him, and Stiles could tell he was trying to fight a smile.

He tsked a few time but let the man in. "Have you eaten?" He shut the door behind them. Derek shook his head. "You like grilled cheese and tomato soup?" Derek shrug-nodded. "Good enough. Come on."

Which was how they ended up eating soup-dipped triangle sandwiches in Stiles's kitchen. Stiles had been sure they'd feel awkward - he knew this was an unconventional situation, to say the least. But he felt so comfortable with the other man at his side, and he, for a moment, allowed himself to childishly believe this was more than coincidence.

"So why don't you celebrate Christmas?" Stiles asked, mouth full. He swallowed. "Figured it'd be a big party day for you."

"Everyone's pretty tired. I usually sleep all day." Derek hunched a little, and it was weird seeing him, all solid and big and handsome in his small, messy kitchen, half-eaten grilled cheese triangle in hand. Sheepishly, he admitted, "I don't really have anyone to celebrate with normally."

"Aww," Stiles said, brushing over how sad the admissions sounded. "Nobody gets you any presents? That's just a shame. Someone like you deserves to get spoiled a bit - even if you're already a smug bastard."

Derek huffed and sort of smiled, which Stiles considered a win. "You gonna spoil me, Stiles?" he asked, voice low.

Stiles nearly blushed. "It's a bit late for it this year. I'll hit you up on your birthday." he promised, and bumped shoulders with him, just to see Derek fight a grin.

"Funny enough," he said, bumping him back a little awkwardly, like he was worried about doing it too hard. "It _is_ my birthday."

"No!" Stiles said, delighted, disbelieving. "Today? Right now?" Derek nodded. "Are all Santa's born on Christmas? Is that was qualifies you to be a Santa?"

"No." Derek rolled his eyes. "It's just my birthday." and he finished his sandwich and started drinking down the soup. Stiles looked at him for a few seconds.

"Hold on. I have an idea."

Distantly, he could hear a murmur of "Oh, no," as he walked out of the kitchen to the living room, but he graciously ignored it. He searched through the small pile of discarded wrapping paper and fixings until he found a red, shiny bow that still had some usable tape on the back.

He hesitated, because this was pretty stupid, and if Derek didn't want to fuck him then he'd probably have to die from embarrassment. But, it was all he had unless Derek wanted a re-gifted sweater that wouldn't even fit him. He smacked the bow on the back of his jeans and walked back to the kitchen.

Derek was still leaning against the counter, mug now empty, resting next to him. His arms were crossed over his chest - Stiles almost swooned because he was too fine for this world. There was an expectant look gracing his face. "Well?" he prompted when Stiles ogled him for a second too long.

"Right, uhh... " and he turned so Derek could see. The movement jostled the bow and it fell to the ground, so Stiles quickly bent to get it before reattaching it carefully. He looked back at the man, hands spread out in a silent _ta-dah!_ , shoulders a little tight with nerves. "Happy birthday?"

"Oh." Derek's arms uncrossed, and he looked suddenly uncertain. Stiles watched him shift his weight, his fingers curling up in his over-long jacket sleeves - which was maybe the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. The man's eyes trailed up from the bow to meet Stiles's gaze and then back down. "Uhm?"

"Oh, Jesus, say something already." Stiles snapped, feeling more and more self-conscious.

"Are you sure?" Derek asked, unmoving.

Stiles turned on his heel and flailed a little. "Yes, dude. It's your birthday. I'm gifting you my butt. You just have to, like, use it carefully, or whatever. Do you want it or not?"

"I can do - whatever?" Derek checked, eyes drifting downward again.

Putting his hands on his hips, Stiles gave him an unimpressed look. "Within reason. Nothing too weird. This is a virgin ass we're dealing with, you know."

And Derek's face lit up - which Stiles didn't get because Derek would have already _known_ that. Regardless, it did relax Stiles to know that he was being received. He took a few steps towards him before asking, "Can you grab the counter for me?"

"Uhh..." Stiles's brain stalled. "Here?" he clarified. "Now?" but he was already moving, hands gripping just next to his discarded mug. He felt Derek settle behind him, not touching but close - until a hand cam down to cup his ass through his jeans. Derek removed the bow and placed it by the boy's knuckles.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Stiles asked again, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, feeling a little lightheaded. "I have lube upstairs."

"Don't need lube for what I want to do to you." Derek harshed. "Pull down your pants. Spread your legs."

" _Derek_..." Stiles bit his lip, and the man nosed at his neck, tilting his head back, breathing him in.

"Now." he said, and Stiles did as told, pants pooling around ankles.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, white knuckling the counter top as Derek knelt behind him. A hand smoothed over his ass, warm fingers hooking in his waistband just for a second. His thumb became a little more forward, creasing into his crack, finding and pressing and rubbing over his hole. Stiles shifted his legs again, the semi that had been present between his legs since he grabbed the bow filling out more.

"Getting you back for this morning." Derek rumbled, and he leaned forward to mouth at Stiles's inner thigh, just under his boxer-briefs leg, nipping a bit, nosing under his clothed balls. Stiles had one tight inhale of breath and then quietly, slowly exhaled, closing his eyes. "Is that alright?" the man asked, pulling back momentarily.

Stiles nodded, throat working for a second before he could find his voice. "Yeah," he managed, voice more garbled than he wanted. "Okay."

"Okay?" Derek repeated, fingers coming up to his underwear again, ready to pull them down.

"Yeah." Stiles said, more sure this time, and Derek shimmied down his boxers to meet his pants.

He spread the boy apart with a soft _oh_ and he didn't touch for a very long time. The longer they waited, the antsier Stiles got, worried that something was wrong. He peeked back and saw Derek looking at him intensely, biting his lip in concentration, seemingly stuck in a staring contest with Stiles's hole. Stiles nearly squirmed out of Derek's hold, hips catting back before he could stop them.

"If you don't want - " he tried, blush heating his face, eyes feeling unfocused with embarrassment, but Derek was leaning in, eyes sliding shut, lips parting. Stiles snapped his own mouth shut, but just for that second, because in the next, Derek's warm breath was heating his hole. Then his tongue was prodding at it, and Stiles was being kissed, shallowly, enthusiastically. He couldn't keep himself from making the lost, loud noise he did as he leaned over the counter more for stability, pushing himself against Derek's face.

The man didn't seem to mind; it didn't even slow him down. He was lapping all around the rim, applying firm, pointed pressure at its center, but not dipping in quite yet. He seemed perfectly content where he was, moaning in his own mouth, sloppily making out with the boy's ass. His light stubble tickled against his skin, his fingers dug in a little deeper, harder, and he broke away with one final, teasing lick to nip down the boy's asscheek, teething and sucking at the crease of his thigh.

Stiles felt himself at a definite loss. His didn't know how it had gotten there, but his hand had found its way into his own mouth, teeth secured around fingers to keep him from making too much noise. He didn't know why it was so important, why he felt so ashamed, but he couldn't have Derek hear how far gone he was already.

Derek came back to his hole, thumb guiding him this time, pressing around that needy, little ringed mouth, helping pull it open so he could kiss Stiles's insides. Stiles made some high, reedy whine in the back of his throat that desperately wanted to be a wail. Derek sat back on his heels, thumb still circling.

Letting go of the fingers gagging his mouth, Stiles looked back, finding himself met by concerned eyebrows and a sloppy, red, wet, frowning mouth.

"You don't have to be quiet." Derek told him, eyes blow so big, face flushed so perfectly, that Stiles couldn't believe he'd done that. He didn't say anything, just nodded vigorously a few times. "Isn't it okay?" Derek asked, head cocked, feigning continued confusion. Stiles squinted at him, mouth setting. He huffed and looked away, settling back to the meager comfort of half-lying on the counter.

"Sure, it's _okay_." he said, and he was panting and his voice was thin, so his indifference probably wasn't very convincing. Plus, his cock was starting to leak a little, clearly hot and hard and _throbbing_.

Derek hummed thoughtfully. "Well, I hope I'm not _boring_ you." and his thumb pressed, mouth dipping in for a single, sweet kiss. "I'll see if I can do better."

And suddenly his free hand was meeting its match, second thumb pressing in with the first to help provide a bigger space into which Derek could feed his tongue.

Stiles's thighs jumped when he fucked in the first time and the open-mouthed sound that was shocked out of him made Derek _growl_ with pride. It was hardly the fullest Stiles had ever been, but the sudden wet, sliding pressure and the simple fact that someone _else_ was there, someone was on their knees behind him (and that someone was a beyond gorgeous man Stiles _really_ liked) kept his mouth crying open, sound after sound getting kissed out of him in hard thrusting surges.

Derek was humming and _hmm_ ing at his taste, eating his way in deeper, and heat was coiling low in Stiles's stomach as he moaned the man's name once, brokenly, reverently, in warning and demand. He continued, voice sounding shaky, uncertain, "Oh, God, Derek, you've got me so wet." and rocked his anxious hips into the man's grip to be closer, to get more.

"Shh, shh," Derek hushed senselessly, one hand leaving to pet his side, soothing over his thigh and hipbone.

"Oh, fuck, oh, you could just slide it in, couldn't you? I'm just _dripping_ for you. Oh, Derek, come on."

Derek pulled back, breathing heavy. "I don't - I don't have anything."

Stiles almost whined, begging, " _Please_ , please, Derek. Just the tip. Just - _Anything_."

Clambering to his feet before Stiles knew it, Derek tore at his own belt, let the boy shake as he stood, unsupported and untouched. He had to vice one, trembling hand around his own cock, pumping it once and then ringing it to hold on. Derek's hands were back on in hip, hot, insistent, the other guiding his own dick, rubbing it against the boy's crack, nudging it against his swollen pink hole.

"Oh, God," Stiles groaned, rolling back, body tense and shuddering. Derek just kept kissing his cock against the boy's rim, almost easing in and then back to rutting, dick spitting precome that mixed with the slick saliva drooling out of his little asscunt. "Put it - " he gasped, "Put it in. Please, Derek, Oh, God, please, I - "

And Derek popped the head of his thick cock in. Stiles cried out shamelessly, knees knocking together, and his grip loosened, letting him come hard all over the side of the kitchen counter. Derek's other hand came to curl around the boy's stomach, steadying him on his feet as he felt close to collapsing.

After a minute, Stiles was able to open his eyes and stand more on his own, still shivering and feeling clingy with his orgasm, but reminded of the task at hand. He covered Derek's hold on his stomach with his own hand and worked his hips in a shallow thrust backwards. "Come on," he panted mindlessly, "Come in me."

Derek groaned and fucked in the tip of his cock half an inch deeper. Stiles hissed, breath hitching as Derek repositioned his hands for a better hold on the boy's waist and then started to dick in shallowly. Stiles bent over the counter more, fingers back to gripping polished wood tight, trying to let him in just a little bit more.

It really didn't take much because a few thrusts later, Derek was stilling suddenly, fingers digging in so sharp Stiles thought he might bleed, spilling into that hot, little place. Almost immediately, he was pulling himself out and then slumping against Stiles's back, seemingly unable, or unwilling, to hold himself up. His arms wrapped around Stiles's middle, slipping under his shirt, humming in contentment.

Stiles was blinking back tears, muffled whine not quite dying in his throat to his utter embarrassment. He thought his hips might actually be bleeding and, as much as he wanted to be close to Derek, he was a bit too heavy to hold up. The man seemed to sense his distress because he pulled off with a soft inquisitive hum, turning Stiles so his back was against the counter instead.

All Stiles could see was how red his eyes were, before Derek was dropping to his knees with a mournful sound. Stiles looked down to see that, yes, he was injured - but they were just neat little pinpricks, barely bloody. Derek, nonetheless, opened his fanged mouth, lapping at them in apparent apology. Stiles's cock gave an eager twitch, and he totally could have gotten it up again, but Derek looked so dutifully distressed as he ran his tongue over the wounds - and it was just too weird.

"This is the farthest thing away from sanitary." Stiles told him, and Derek gaze darted up to him, eyes back to their hazel. Stiles had thought he might look a little embarrassed when coming back to his senses, that he could gently tease him about this later after he figured out what the fuck was going on. But he didn't look embarrassed - he looked horrified.

"Right." he said, breaking away. Stiles pulled up his underwear as Derek collected himself, and could already feel the come seeping out of his hole. He stepped out his pants. "Sorry." Derek stood, tucked himself back in. "I'll - uh - Get something to clean and bandage them with." the man turned, ready, it seemed, to search through the house for a first aid kit. Stiles caught his arm.

"Hey," he said, voice softer than he meant, "I'm fine. You didn't do anything wrong." Derek just sort of stared at him, lips tight like he didn't know what to say. This was terrible for Stiles's afterglow, and he almost said as much. Instead, he asked, "You wanna take a shower with me?"

"You want," Derek repeated, words slow and careful, "To shower with me." And it almost seemed like the idea was ridiculous when he said it like that.

Stiles tried to not let hurt seep into his expression. In effect, his smile got a little wider, sharper, showing off his teeth more. "Yeah. Isn't that what people do?"

"No." Derek said, and then relented, "I mean, yeah, people do that. But, no, I'm good. I just - Need a minute." and he pulled away from Stiles, which meant he needed a minute _alone_.

"Oh, I'll just clean myself up then." Stiles said, grabbing his pants off the ground and stepping up the stairs. He expected to be stopped and wasn't, so he slammed the door of the bathroom a little harder than he should have.

* * *

Stiles didn't shower - didn't see the point in it if he was by himself. He disinfected the marks and used a clean, damp washcloth to wipe off the tacky, drying come that was still slipping out of his asshole. He wasn't as gentle with himself as he should have been, all swollen tender and rubbed raw by beard burn. He could hear, as he as he was rinsing the cloth off in the sink, slow, heavy footfalls on the stairs. Derek made his way through the hall and stopped outside the bathroom door.

Stiles turned off the faucet and tugged his pants back on, going commando, and searched the medicine cabinet for mouthwash. Throwing the door open, he made eye contact with Derek - but it didn't really matter, considering how closed off he looked. Stiles held out the bottle to him, and he took it, stepping in front of the mirror and washing his mouth out as Stiles watched him in the reflection, wet cloth tight in his hands, waiting to be attended. Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but Derek left right then, plastic bottle back on the sink, door shutting behind him.

"Oh, God damn it." Stiles choked out, and he heard the man pause outside the door and then pass by a second later. He threw the washcloth into the sink, furious, and it landed with a wet, unsatisfying plop. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He snatched up his barely jizz-stained boxer-briefs and ran the spot under the sink faucet. Getting his ass eaten, not to mention getting penetrated by something besides his own fingers, for the first time was supposed to leave him relaxed. He was supposed to feel good after that - or at least he had thought he would in his carefully planned out version of this moment.

And he'd thought they'd been doing so well.

Leaving the bathroom, he realized he had started hoping too fast, which was always his downfall. He'd known the guy for less than twelve hours and he was expecting him to want to _shower_ with him?

He found Derek sitting hunched over on his bed, hands clasped tight on his lap, eyes on his hands. Stiles felt half of the fight drain out of him. He sat down next to him, gently but gracelessly. The man peeked over, and then looked back down

"I need to talk to you." Derek said after a second. "And apologize."

"Derek, it's okay," Stiles sighed. "I know you didn't mean to do it - And they don't even hurt anymore. Accidents happen."

"No, not that - I mean, I _am_ sorry about that. It's just," and he took a deep breath. "You don't deserve any of this. You don't know anything about me."

"Okay, but, like, maybe you could, you know," Stiles widened his eyes meaningfully, " _Tell_ me about you. I mean, it's not like I don't want to know. I _really_ like you, Derek. And this is all going so fast - but it kind of doesn't feel fast enough, which is weird, I get it. I just - yeah, I really like you. And I don't want you to - feel bad or get nervous or whatever this is."

Derek lapsed into silence.

Stiles sighed again. "What happened back there? It seemed like we were doing good."

"We were. _You_ were." but he cut himself off, seemingly unable to form the next words.

"Okay," Stiles said, "Clearly we need to go slow. Let's start small. What's with your eyes?"

"That's small?" Derek snorted. "You should be more freaked out about that."

"I'm a Millennial." Stiles told him, grinning lazily. "We were raised on TV. You know what they say; nothing phases us."

So, Derek said, "I'm a werewolf.”

Stiles laughed, and then stopped abruptly. "Oh, this is not a time you'd be trying to make a joke." He thought about it a second longer. "You know what I said a bit ago? About nothing phasing me? I lied. I'm phased. Please explain."

Derek huffed. "There's nothing to explain. I'm a werewolf. All Santas are."

"Werewolves are all Santa." Stiles clarified.

"No. All Santas are werewolves - but not all werewolves are Santa. Some are... Helpers or - You know my sleigh-wolves?"

"They're werewolves?" Stiles guessed in a small voice. Derek nodded. "But you said that wolves can't talk."

"They can't." Derek said. "Not when they're like that."

Stiles stood, ran a hand through his hair a few times. "Okay." he said, nodding. "Okay, but - " and he stopped in front of Derek, looking at him. "No. Not okay. What?"

"You seemed fine with the shift before." Derek reminded him, guarded.

"I thought, maybe - I mean, your eyes are red. Red's a Christmas color? Like, maybe it was Christmas Magic? And the claws and the fangs were... Festive flair?"

"That makes more sense to you?"

"Kind of?" Stiles said, shoulders tensing up in an aborted, jerky shrug. "I mean - Werewolves, Derek? _Werewolves?_ "

"Repeating it doesn't make it a question."

So Stiles collected himself. "Wouldn't someone have noticed? I mean, the stories are so wrong. There's absolutely no werewolf mythology in the Christmas tradition. Something would have slipped through, wouldn't it? We'd have some idea about this."

"Have you," Derek started, a little hesitant, "Heard of Krampus?"

"You..." Stiles blinked and then shook his head adamantly, starting to pace again. "Oh my God, no. You can't be serious." He rubbed a hand over his face. "The Christmas Demon?"

"Yeah," Derek said, looking a bit embarrassed - as he should, Stiles decided. This was ridiculous. It was an embarrassing conversation to be having. "But, he's not a demon. Early in our history, the German Santa was caught in his, uhh... We call it an Alpha shift. Some villagers in the Alps caught him like that, and one of his Betas had to come dressed as Santa to save him. And, to explain it - "

"The story of Krampus was created. I get it." and then he asked, "Does he really eat children? Oh God, do _you_ eat children? Or just people?"

Derek gave him a bitch face, and then snapped. "No. I don't eat children, Stiles. Or normal people."

"Oh," Stiles sighed, and he sat next to Derek again. "That's good."

"Although German Santa might have.” he allowed. “When they caught him, I mean. Which would explain that myth."

"This is unbelievable." Stiles said, shaking his head. "First I learn Santa's real. Now werewolves are - _and_ Krampus, the Christmas Demon, sort of. Next your gonna tell me Vampires are a thing."

The man shrugged weakly. "They take care of Easter."

Stiles looked like he might have an aneurysm. " _No_." he stated, voice firm.

Derek finally smiled, although guilty and nervous and a little shy. "Kidding." Stiles punched his shoulder lightly and then sagged a little, exhausted. The man rubbed at his arm, like it hurt more than Stiles knew it did. He leaned in anyway, pressed a kiss there, only to feel Derek tense.

"Sorry." he said, pulling back.

"About the other thing." Derek said, back to his stilted self. "With the - the - "

"The claws?" Stiles huffed. "I _told_ you. It's not even a big deal."

"No." and he put his hand on the bed between them, like he wanted to take Stiles's but knew better. "No," he repeated, softer. "After that."

"When you... Licked me?" Stiles bridged the gap between them, putting his hand on Derek's. "I didn't mind that."

"I was just so far gone." Derek managed out. "I - I haven't been that out of control since... A long time ago. I didn't even feel human, Stiles. I thought you were... That I was..." and he shook his head. "I thought I could give you... Something I can’t." He stopped talking.

Stiles frowned, something inside of him aching because it seemed like Derek was. "You're not giving me much to go on here, dude."

"It's like what you said about this going too fast, but not fast enough. I'm worried about what I'd do to you - for you - if this continues." And he paused before adding, "You're just too young for me."

"I wasn't too young for you twenty minutes ago." Stiles pointed out, more hurt than he let on. "Or this morning."

"Yes." Derek said, placing his free hand over where he and Stiles were pressed together and untangled their fingers. "Yes, you were. You’ve always been. You don't know me - what I've done. I know you too well - or, at least, my ideal of what you are. We're not - Right together."

"And what?" Stiles tore his hand back. "Am I not living up to your expectation? Why the fuck did you come here then? For a pity lay? Why are you still here?"

And Derek looked at him for a very long time, that guarded, sad expression back on his face. "Yeah." he gruffed, standing, hands curling in his jacket sleeves. "I don't know why I'm still here."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Stiles said, on his feet as well. "Is that it? You’re just going to leave?"

"It's not like we're together." Derek reminded him and took a step towards the door. "This was never anything more than...” and he searched for the word. Stiles cut in before he could find it.

“You can’t expect me to _believe_ that.” Stiles spat back, palms open and closing, wanting to reach out and staying put. “Not after all of this. Us meeting again and again - you _spying_ on me - wanting to _literally_ lick my wounds. That _counts_ for something. You can’t do all of that, and make me _feel_ like this, and then walk out on me.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t even... _Like_ you.”

And he’d hesitated too long - the claim being too obviously untrue to even give Stiles pause. Clearly, he wasn’t used to having to lie about things. Stiles would have almost thought it was cute if he wasn’t so pissed. “God, you are so bad at this. You like me - that's why we're in this mess. Stop white-fanging me and get over yourself.”

Derek looked properly chastised, smaller, and he stood very still, like he was much younger, having been caught doing something naughty. “I’m not “white-fanging” you.” he grumbled.

“Oh, so you really don’t like me?” Stiles huffed. “If you think you’re gonna be happier leaving - be my guest. But this is it if you do.” Stiles was bluffing - or, at least, he couldn’t actually see himself turning Derek down if left then and came back a week later, wanting _whatever_. Stiles didn’t love himself enough to have that kind of strength - but he had enough sense to pretend he did. He just didn’t expect Derek to see through that, head cocking, eyebrows furrowing.

“You’re lying.” he hushed, eyes searching Stiles’s face. “Why are you lying?” The boy pursed his lips, silent, so Derek growled his name.

“Oh, so, you get to say whatever bullshit you like, but I get growled at when I’m trying to respect myself.” Stiles sat back down on the bed, folded his arms and looked away. Derek just stood there, waiting for Stiles to look at him again. “Ugh, fine. If I tell the truth, you have to as well. You go, I go. Deal?”

“Okay.” Derek said, and sat down farther away from him.

“Do you like me?” Stiles started.

“I thought you knew the answer to that already.” Derek snorted unkindly, crossing his arms as well.

“Sure, I know.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “But maybe you should say it out loud, so I don’t have to keep reminding you why you’re here.”

“ _Yes_ , I fucking do. It doesn’t mean anything, though.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“No, it’s my turn.” Derek stated. “Why’d you lie?”

Stiles groaned in annoyance. “Because _I_ like you too, and if you don’t want me today but do tomorrow - I dunno, I’d probably let you have me. I just want - You. Just whatever you wanna give me.”

“That’s not a good thing.” the man told him, voice slow and careful and it made Stiles want to bare his teeth at him. “No one should - You shouldn’t have to stay with someone who doesn’t want to be with you the way you want to be with them.” and he frowned, voice getting even softer, more raw. It was like the words prodded at some open wound Derek couldn't fix.

“Oh,” Stiles said, void of anger all of a sudden. He got it, and almost wanted to kick himself because it was so astoundingly clear now. “Is that what you think is happening?” Derek didn’t say anything. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Stiles asked, and Derek looked like he wanted to curl up into himself and disappear. “You’re worried that I don’t want you as much - or the say way - as you want me.”

“You don’t though.” Derek told him. “You _can’t_. It’s... It’s not fair of me to expect that of you.”

“Right, right. I’m too young and I don’t know you well enough.” Stiles repeated. “I remember.” Derek scowled. “You don’t even know what I really want from you.” he pointed out.

“What is it then?” Derek sighed, like he already knew the answer wouldn’t be right.

“I want you to stop assuming you know what I'm thinking, for starters, and stop being so uncommunicative, especially if something’s upset you. I mean, that should be a given, but I’ll say it anyway, for both of our sakes. It’d be nice if you’d trust me a bit more, too, but I’m not asking for miracles.”

“That,” the man struggled, “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Fuck, Derek.” Stiles sighed. “I just want you to let me in and let me stay for as long as you’ll have me.” and that all felt very serious, so Stiles tacked on, “But whatever you want to give me is fine too. Just having your ray of fucking sunshine personality around is good enough.”

Derek looked down at his hands again, and Stiles looked too. They were big and sturdy, and Stiles knew how smooth is palms were, how hot to the touch. He wanted to hold them, almost asked, but didn’t want Derek to think he’d used his question on that. “What do you want from me that’s so bad?”

They were both silent for a long time as Derek hesitated, trying to find the words. “You smell so familiar. You feel - Familiar. I want to keep you close. I want to protect you or provide for you or take care of you, whichever you need. I want to sleep with you and watch you wake up. I want my bed to smell like you. I want you to smell like me. I want to fill you up so full, to mark you so well, that even a human can tell you belong to - _With_ \- me and - You _don’t_ , Stiles. You shouldn’t. You’re your own person and you’ve got a life ahead of you and... You shouldn’t limit yourself to me.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinked. “That's...”

“It doesn’t feel _weird_ to me. I know it is - and I've never felt like this for anyone else - but it just feels so normal.” Derek murmured. “ _Instinctual_. Which is _another_ reason why this is a bad idea.”

“What? You think I don’t have instincts?” Stiles relaxed back a little, bringing his legs up on the bed, crossing in front of him so he could face Derek head on. “I’m sorry, but do you think I’d just have sex at four in the morning with a stranger who broke into my house - which, Santa or not, is what you did - all willy-nilly?” Derek scrunched his nose up at the phrase, but Stiles continued on, unphased. “No. I _instinctually_ liked you, Derek. Still do. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else. Seriously.

“If Lydia Martin - goddess of my heart - came crashing into my place at four in the morning, I’d maybe get her some blankets to crash out on my couch, maybe something to eat - but that would be it. I wouldn’t want to fuck her, because four AM is a ridiculous time to have sex. And I even _know_ her. Strangers are not the type of people I usually want to have sex with - especially ones who know creepy, intimate details about my life. But despite all of that - I saw you and I thought, yeah. This guy can be it for me. I’m gonna trust this guy, even though I really shouldn’t. Maybe it’s just blind faith, and maybe it’ stupid - actually, I know it’s stupid - but I’m pretty sure it’s instinct too.” Stiles finished and Derek looked thrown, mouth opening and closing without words. "So, shut up."

“And the other stuff?” Derek settled on. “The weird stuff?”

“I’m down. Sign me up. Sounds hot.”

Derek sat back, staring at him. “You are unbelievable.” he finally settled on.

“You too, Mr. Claus.” Stiles grinned. Derek huffed, and it almost sounded like a laugh. “You wanna fuck me?”

“Is that your question?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “Guess so. Be careful. Your answer might end the game.” and he winked.

“But - I have a lot more to ask you.”

“Do any of those questions involve maybe putting your penis in my butt?” Derek leveled an extremely unimpressed, mildly disgusted look with him. Stiles positively beamed with pleasure. “I know at least one of them has to. And, you know, my ass is still gifted to you for another couple hours.”

“Can I kiss you first?” Derek asked, sounding ready to be denied. “We don’t have to but, can we - Just go slow?”

“Dude, of _course_.” Stiles said, scooting down the bed to sit in front of Derek, a hand coming up to turn his jaw, keeping him in place as he pecked a single, chaste kiss onto his mouth before pulling back a ways, fingers still gripping his stubbled cheek gently. “You can kiss me as much as you like.” he assured him, and pressed a similar kiss to his lips again. “Whenever you want,” and then added as an afterthought, drawing back, hands coming away from the man’s face to gesture a little, “But maybe use some common sense. Like, if I’m eating or in the middle of a conversation with someone else or - ”

Derek caught Stiles’s flailing hand in his own and held it still, Stiles cutting off with a soft _oh_. Derek was closer than he’d expected, warm and shifting nearer by the second. The man’s eyes were half-lidded and sliding shut slowly, lips parted, and Stiles’s own mouth fell open, tongue wetting his lips and then dipping back inside right before Derek was kissing him softly, chasing Stiles’s tongue into his mouth in the next second, humming a little at the little hitch of breath the touch wrought from the boy. 

Stiles's free hand fisted in Derek’s shirt, and he shifted onto his knees for better leverage. Derek, head tilted up to him, opened his mouth more, letting Stiles suck on his tongue before kissing him again, so softly. He tasted like hot, mouthy listerine, which shouldn’t have been tasted good but Stiles found himself moaning anyway, a sense of urgency flaring up his sides. Derek gripped at his hips to keep him from growing too frantic and held him close, tight against his front. 

Breaking away, Stiles brushed lips with the man one last time before he pulled back, panting, pink flush settled heavily. Derek’s hold around his back tightened as he looked up at the boy, eyes clear and bright, earthy green. Stiles ran his own thumb over his bottom, spit-slicked lip. “We can just do this.” he hushed. “We don’t have do anything if you don’t want to.”

Derek’s brown furrowed, mouth opening for Stiles to play with lightly, grazing the pads of his fingers over his lips, pulling at them just slightly, showing off white bunny teeth. “But you asked - “

“We have time, don’t we?” Stiles murmured, transfixed on the sight below him. Derek’s arms shifted, curling down, one hand groping his ass, the other snaking up the back of his shirt. Stiles stilled his own playful petting of the man’s face, body hyperfocused on Derek’s fingers dragging over his naked skin. “Unless you want to.” he said, a wave of heat chilling through him, setting him close to shivering already.

“I do.” Derek murmured, holding Stiles’s gaze, steady and open.

“But you said you wanted to go slow.” 

“And we will.” he nodded, and then added, a little awkwardly. “I just didn’t want this to be rushed like this morning.”

“Okay.” Stiles breathed, and Derek surged up to his knees. He kissed Stiles again, less tender, with more purpose. Stiles had only been kissed so many times, and never like this, and felt himself struggling to keep up, holding onto Derek’s shirt like a lifeline, whining in his throat as Derek licked and sucked and bit at his lips. 

Suddenly, Derek’s hands were at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up insistently, breaking away to let Stiles lift his arms. Stiles hesitated, mind blanking on what to do.

“Uh...” he began, and Derek let go of his shirt. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he blurted out. Derek looked understandably confused. “It’s just - We haven’t actually gotten naked.” and Derek raised his eyebrow. “ _I_ haven’t gotten naked. You look good naked so it’s not a problem for you. I’m - “ He cut himself off. Derek’s face was touched with a softness Stiles didn’t want to look at.

“Did you think I was just gonna flip you over and pull you pants down?” he asked. 

“I mean, it worked earlier?” Stiles offered.

“Do you want to leave your shirt on?” Derek asked, and he didn’t sound like he was making fun of Stiles. It _sounded_ like he understood - which Stiles couldn’t comprehend because he was pretty sure Derek had left the womb with a scowl and a Santa hat and abs so fine and sharp that the doctor had cut the cord of them and then swooned. He chewed his lip, feeling hopelessly indecisive. “How about I take off my clothes first, and then you can tell me what you want?” Stiles nodded, and Derek got up from the bed. 

Back to the boy, he quickly shucked his jacket and threw it over the nearby computer chair. He then bent down to take off his shoes and socks, and Stiles calmed himself by staring at the man's ass, which was a very comforting sight. Turning a bit more to the side, he pulled off his tight Henley, threw it on top of his jacket, and then unbuckled his belt. Meeting Stiles’s eyes, he pulled it through the loops with one, smooth tug, which kind of _did_ things to Stiles. 

Last thing was his pants, which he unbuttoned and unzipped while making his way back to the bed, eyes fixed to where Stiles had sat back on his heels, short of breath and overwarm. Derek somehow peeled himself out of his tight jeans, although Stiles shouldn’t have been so impressed - he’d seen the more impossible feat of Derek getting in and out of his velvet Santa uniform - leaving him in his briefs. Stiles could see the outline of his cock through the material and felt his mouth water while his pulse skyrocketed. Derek’s fingers hooked in the waistband, ready to pull them down when Stiles put up a hand.

“Maybe we could wait? Just a minute?”

“Sure,” Derek said, and he reached forward to cup Stiles’s face, fingers scratching through his hair, carding through the scruff at the back of his neck. “So, what are you thinking?”

“Could you get the lights maybe?”

And Derek did, Stiles slipping out of his shirt as Derek’s back was turned, tossing it off the side of the bed. It was bright enough outside his window that the lights didn’t really change much. It made him feel better though, highlighted only by the gray, overcast day.

He didn’t touch anything else because Derek was already crawling up the bed to settle over where Stiles was sitting. He stayed to his side, arms bracketing his legs, and he leaned in for another kiss. It was sweet, just superficial, to give Stiles a second to focus on something else. He felt his stomach jump when Derek finally lay a hand there, just above his pants, thumb trailing a soft, curling pattern over his happy trail. 

“This okay? “He asked, voice soft.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. It’s good. I’m not nervous about the sex stuff.” and the he asked, “Oh, God, is that weird?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t think so,” his fingers dipping in the boy’s waistband a little as he continued. “But I might not be the best judge for that.”

“Yeah, probably not.” Stiles agreed, grinning. “We’ve established that you’re pretty weird.” 

A few more of Derek’s fingers slipped under his waistband for a longer moment. “You want me to take these off?”

“Okay.” Stiles said, and let Derek push him onto his back, head falling on his pillow. Propping himself up on his elbows, just for a second, he watched the man undo his pants and start to shimmy them down his hips. He helped Derek get them off and then laid on his back again. He stared at the ceiling for the first few seconds, after his pants were tossed aside, breathing too shallowly, hands resting on his stomach, itching to curl lower and hide himself.

He stayed like that for a while, waiting for Derek to do something. When the man didn’t touch him, or say anything, or even _move_ , Stiles brought his head up to look at him.

Derek was frozen over him, eyes flicking down his chest and navel and half-hard dick in its thatch of curls; all the way down his legs. He didn’t seem grossed out or disappointed or even confused. He had an expression of absolute wonder, satisfaction. His eyes blown wide, hungry mouth wet and open, tongue barely visible, he looked torn between pouncing and gazing his fill for hours. 

Stiles did curl on himself then, legs pulling in, just a fraction, sitting up more. Derek snapped back to himself.

“Sorry. I got distracted.” His voice was harsh, lower and rougher than just minutes before. He leaned in, hand coming to brace next to Stiles’s hip, the other reaching to thread its fingers with Stiles’s. He twisted n, mouth coming just under the boy’s ear, nipping and scenting there, thumb soothing a circle on his palm. Stiles exhaled shakily and let Derek guide him down, still snuffling at his neck, still holding Stiles’s hand. Derek brought his free hand to skim over his chest, pausing at a nipple, flicking over it. 

“You know,” Stiles squirmed, biting his lip as Derek sucked a line down his throat. “You don’t have to warm me up like this. I’m pretty good to go.” Derek lifted up, pinching the little nub between his thumb and forefinger, tweaking it. Stiles twitched and tried to swallow a sound, his fingers coming up to press over his lips, as if he could hide any noise they might let escape. 

“We’re going slow.” Derek reminded him.

“This isn’t slow.” Stiles complained. “This is, like, snail’s pace. Like, it’s gonna be New Years before we get anywhere.”

“Oh yeah?” and he bent down to take Stiles’s nipple into his mouth, biting and tugging and then laving over it as the boy hitched and jerked. “You bored?” he murmured into his skin before latching on and sucking hard for a few seconds, Stiles mouth gasping open, hand pressed over his lips more firmly. The man sat back, weight comfortable on Stiles’s thighs, and gently eased his hand from his mouth, loosely pinning it by his ear like he had with the first. “We’re not going fast enough, huh?” he asked, amused.

“Y-yeah.”

Derek hummed, eyes crinkling. “You’re so impatient.” and he kissed his mouth, and then the hollow of his throat, and then a freckle on his shoulder. Stiles’s breath harshed, body shaking.

His voice whined before leveling out, “I thought you said you wanted to fill me up.” Derek stilled. “Please fill me up,” he begged, pushing his hips against he man’s ass, bumping his now hard cock into him as a reminder of its presence. “I want - Everyone to know. To smell it on me - Like you said. Please, Derek. Please just - Give me - “

And Derek’s hands found his hips, flipping him over without warning. “God,” he was saying as Stiles reeled, being rearranged so his knees were under him, ass pressed upwards. “You manipulative little brat.”

“How many naughty points am I racking up? I need to make sure I counteract them with niceness soon - just so I stay in the black.” 

“You can be _nice_ right now,” Derek told him, moving away to find the lube Stiles kept in his bedside drawer that he obviously already knew the location of, “By being still and not talking for a goddamn minute. Sound fair?”

Stiles _hmm_ ed and spread his legs further apart as Derek settled behind him. He hoped Derek would keep the prep quick and efficient, relaxing into his stacked arms as he waited, Derek warming the lube between his fingers. 

“I’m gonna start now.” he finaly said, slick hand coming to rest on his asscheek. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Stiles said, and was surprised by how serious his own voice sounded. 

Derek must have noticed as well because he snort-laughed and started to nudge in his first finger. It went in relatively easily, even if Stiles’s hole was still sensitive and little puffy from its earlier treatment, Derek murmuring, “Still wet, huh?”

“Wasn’t that long ago.” Stiles told him, shifting a bit, worried his legs might start to shake. He could already feel tension tremoring down to his knees. Derek pet him gently, as if sensing it. 

“Hmm.” and he pressed a kiss to the boys spine, adding a second finger. His fingers were bigger than Stiles’s, knuckles thicker, and the angle was clearly different from anything Stiles had ever managed on his own. It all added up to the muffled squeak he made when Derek twisted them, scissoring them apart.

“Oh, fuck, give me another.” Stiles demanded into his pillow. Derek curled the two and Stiles choked, fingers clutching at the sheets, burying his face deeper. Instead of adding more, Derek pulled his fingers out altogether to squirt more lube directly on the boy’s hole, the sudden absence and even more sudden chill making Stiles’s head spin. He hated the empty feeling he was left with, felt more needy than he could handle all of a sudden, not the slightest bit comforted when Derek shushed him - and he hadn’t noticed making any sounds that would have warranted that. He only calmed when Derek breached him with three fingers pressed tight together, fucking in quickly, then separating, then curling in.

Derek barely brushed his prostate, and something sparked through Stiles. He leaked precome down his straining dick, so Derek did it again, and Stiles's mouth was shocked open, arms twitching, legs rocking and then trembling as the man steadied them. The shaking only got worse and Stiles thought they might just give out altogether.

“Maybe we should put you on your back.”

Lube was soaking down his taint and balls, thoughts close to absent from his mind, and Stiles just wanted Derek to thrust in again, or curl and tap over that too often neglected sweet spot. But, he nodded, and Derek pulled out. Stiles let himself be manhandled around again, Derek reaching for the pillows, tugging the corner of the one under Stiles’s head until the boy got the message and let him take it.

“It’ll help if your hips are, uhh, elevated.” which Stiles figured he was right about, so he helped Derek prop his back up before slumping down, hands limp by his ears. The man’s fingers were back, edging into his entrance without another word, Stiles accepting them quietly as he bit his lip. His cock spat a bead of precome onto his stomach, and Derek’s mouth chase it instantly.

“Weird.” Stiles breathed, and Derek massaged over his prostate as an undeniably effective way of shutting him up. He lapped another droplet off the tip of Stiles’s cock, and the boy’s eyes flashed wide open. Clearly, liking the taste enough, Derek took the head in his mouth, sucking the tip as he fucked his fingers in. 

Stiles legs kicked out and, before he knew what he was saying, he could distantly hear himself crying out, “ _No, no, no_.”

Derek pulled back and off and out, completely separate from Stiles all of a sudden, passing concerned into worried. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Stiles panted, sitting up enough to grab Derek’s hand and line it back up with his hole, nudging the tips of his fingers against him, trying to spur Derek back action. “It was just too much. I don’t want to come yet. I want you inside first.” and when Derek just looked at him, clearly unable to shake his apprehension, Stiles prompted. “So, let’s get on with that.” and he wriggled his ass forward, showing off how ready he was. 

Groaning a little at the display, Derek had to palm himself through his underwear, which Stiles had forgotten he was wearing. 

“You can take those off, dude.” he said. “Sorry about that.” Derek’s cock looked absolutely massive one he threw his briefs aside. Stiles laughed nervously. “You sure that’s gonna fit?”

Derek looked down at his dick and then made a show of look at Stiles’s hole and then taking his own cock in his hand as if weighing it, comparing the two. He sent Stiles a grin that look only half-human. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out. But I can keep fingering you if you’re worried.” and he wasn’t teasing. He seemed to mean it. In fact, he looked like he’d be thrilled to finger Stiles for a couple more hours - or days, even. Years, possibly, if wolfishly eager look on his face was anything to go by. 

“No way, dude.” Stiles said, lying back again, trying to stay calm. “Just slick up an go in. I’m getting old here.” 

“Do you want me to use a condom?”

“Oh, yeah, maybe,” Stiles said, turning on his side to reopen the drawer. “I mean, unless _you_ want to clean me up later.” Which was maybe the wrong thing to say, because Derek leaned over him to close the drawer, an intense look clouding his face. “Dude, really?” Stiles sighed. Derek nodded. “Okay, I’m holding you to that. I swear to God, though, if you don’t, we will throw down.”

The man grinned, and then outright laughed, warm hands coming to grip at the boy’s flank. “You’re gonna _throw down_ with me?” Stiles would have been offended at the notion of his throwing down with anyone being laughable, but he just smiled back and shrugged awkwardly. 

Derek seemed unable to not peck him on the lips after that, and then sat back to pour a gracious amount of lube onto his palm, coating his cock. He wiped the excess over the boy’s hole, which made Stiles scrunch up his nose a bit, but he figured it was for the best.

“You good?” Derek asked, prick in hand, ready to push in.

“Uh-huh.” Stiles replied, breathing off, tone a bit high-pitched and absent, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets. Derek caught his face, fingers lube-tacky, barely resting over his neck. 

“Hey,” he said, thumb tickling over his cheek. “Hey, we really don’t have - “

“If you tell me we don’t have to one more time, you’re going straight on my naughty list. Put your dick in me immediately, or I will do something drastic.” 

“Wow, you sure do have a sexy way of saying things.” Derek snarked. Stiles almost stuck his tongue out at him, but was ultimately distracted. It wasn’t exactly possible for Derek to slide in to the hilt with one thrust, but he was able to ease in, stopping Stiles’s breath completely for a few moments, brown eyes rolling back and then shutting with each inch the man gentled in. Once in all the way, Derek gave one quick thrust, then stopped, waiting. 

"Oh, you...” Stiles breathed, his toes and fingers curled, one hand flapping up, reaching out blindly until Derek caught it and put his lips to the boy’s wrist. “Oh, just...” His fist balled and Derek set it back down by his cheek. He gathered up spindly legs, hooking knees over elbows, pushing them back, bracing his broad, open palms on the bed. He pulled his cock out almost all the way.

Pushing back in was quicker this time, easier, and had Stiles groaning open mouthed, face contorting. Derek pulled nearly out a second time, this time snapping his hips forward, pounding back in, shocking out a hollow cry. Stiles scrabbled for the man’s back, wanting him even closer, nails digging in. Derek tucked his face into the boy’s neck, circling his hips once and then starting to rut in, slow and dirty, corkscrewing tiny, broken sounds out of him.

Stiles tried to say Derek’s name, or _fuck_ , or _please_ , but none of it came out as any real coherent language. Derek seemed to understand, though, answering back with soft groans and growls and twitching jerks of his hips. He felt so big inside of him, so warm and steady and constant in a way things rarely felt. 

And Derek’s cock felt so thick, like it was growing thicker inside of Stiles’s heat with each thrust. Derek moaned, sounding wrecked, like he could feel it too, and Stiles didn’t even need to snake a hand between them to finish himself off, with Derek rubbing against him with every stroke of his body and the perfect, firm pressure inside of him.

Just as he came, spilling over the edge with an almost desperate, euphoric sobbing, the thickness inside of him started to feel off, like it was too much. He squirmed under Derek trying to see if it was an accidental change of angle. Derek, in turn, froze, cock stuck inside, swelling more and more by the second.

“I’m so sorry.” he rasped, which did not calm down Stiles in the slightest, as he was becoming increasingly more agitated and uncomfortable. 

“What is - “ and Stiles couldn’t finish that, eyes snapping open, pain flaring up his spine. “ _Ow_.” He was whining, trying to pull back which just made it worse. “Derek, get out.” he ordered, voice hissing as whatever it was inside of him stretched and tugged at him unrelentingly. He tried to speak again and his voice cut off in a pained, gagging choke.

Derek was up, eyes red again, clawed hands coming to the boy’s face as he tried to smooth across his brow, comb through his sweatslick hair. He pressed small, tender kisses on his cheeks and chin and lips, all the while making apologetic whimpers.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated as Stiles, bleary with pain, pressed his own palm over his eyes, trying to hide any moisture that might be gathering. Derek whined at the sight. “I didn’t know - I didn’t, I swear. Stiles, please, shh.”

He seemed to have stopped growing, now just locked in place. Stiles brain was still shorting out though, unable to process or really feel anything but the throbbing in his ass. Derek was easing his legs down onto the bed, letting the boy go boneless.

“I didn’t know,” Derek was rambling. “I swear. I thought - I thought everyone was _joking_ when they talked about this. The other Santas - with their mates - I just thought they were stories. I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know it could happen. Stiles, please, Stiles, say something.” and he made another forlorn sound, nosing at his cheek. 

“ _What?_ ” Stiles managed, blinking back tears, his whole body hitching with each breath he took.

“It’s a - Oh, fuck, a knot. I think I’m _knotting_ you.” Derek then shuddered, groaning, hips fucking forward once on their own accord. Stiles lost his breath, and he could tell Derek was coming. The man got very still and quiet, zoning out completely, slumping onto Stiles more than the boy could handle. 

And Stiles was exhausted. His ass was aching and sore, but if they didn’t move, it didn’t hurt too badly. Derek was mindlessly nuzzling at Stiles’s scent, a hand clasped lightly on his neck. Stiles was able to stop sniffling after the first few minutes and get his breathing back on track in the next ten. 

From there, he was kind of bored as Derek stayed silent, unmoving besides small twitches and jerks, lost to the world. It wasn’t until about thirty minutes in, when Stiles was finally starting to doze off, arms looped around Derek’s back to pet him half-heartedly, that Derek started to grind his hips. 

The motion sent a lick of fire right up Stiles’s back, his cock twitching, as his prostate was not just pressed but rubbed by Derek’s knot. It woke everything inside of Stiles right up, and he clenched around Derek, grinding back. 

He didn’t know how long they were like that, and he was too uncomfortable to get more than half-hard, but Derek was making wounded, gutted, but happy little noises against his throat and, after a while, his knot started to go down and he started to come back to himself. An unfortunately familiar, horrified look was on Derek’s face as he pulled up from where he had faceplanted on the boy.

“You should maybe explain before I conk out.” Stiles told him, wincing as Derek pulled out.

“Knotting is a myth.” Derek said, keeping his distance. “Or, at least, I thought it was. Just an old joke that people bring up at parties and...”

“Apparently its more than that.” Stiles filled in.

“I’m so sorry.” 

“Shh,” Stiles said, already half gone. His hand reached over to find and pat over Derek’s face. “You didn’t know.”

“But I hurt you.” Derek pointed out, bright red eyes flashing up at him, “Again.”

“I’m sensitive.” Stiles corrected. “Maybe I’m a little swollen. But it only hurt at first. I’m okay now.” He sat up to move the pillows back to their proper place and felt come seeping out of his hole. He touched himself down there and almost blanched. It felt like a _lot_.

“You promised me you’d clean up.” Stiles reminded him settling back. “Get to work. I don’t want to have to nap on come-stained blankets.” And he shut his eyes, thoroughly worn out, waiting for Derek to go to the bathroom and bring back a few washcloths.

However, in the next second, Stiles felt his hips being hiked up and Derek, mouth on him again, lapping up the come, licking gently at his abused asshole. Stiles hips bucked, one eye opening to peer at him, the man’s head barely visible between his thighs, behind the pillows.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” he said, and he was met with a reassuring, decidedly inhuman rumbling sound. And Derek’s tongue was working wonders, because Stiles could feel any discomfort leaving him with each careful, wet touch. So, he didn’t say anything else and fell asleep within moments.

* * *

When he woke again, Derek was actually cleaning him with a damp cloth, which had been the original idea. His hips were lowered and a pillow was underneath his head. He met Derek’s gaze for a second.

“You’re coming to bed with me when you’re done, right?” 

Derek paused. “If... If that’s what you want.”

“You’re coming to bed with me.” Stiles repeated, falling back asleep. “Gonna nap with you so fucking much.”

* * *

Stiles woke up again to the sound of the front door slamming. The light had shifted outside and when he pulled up to check his phone - not an easy task with Derek’s heavy arm thrown over his chest - he saw it was past six. 

It took a moment to connect the door slamming with what it meant, and then he was shoving at Derek’s arm, waking him up with a jump.

“What - “

“Hey, Stiles, I got to leave early! We can still watch _Die Hard_.” his dad called from downstairs. Derek’s face morphed into an absolute horror that matched Stiles’s. 

“ _Hide_.” Stiles whispered, pushing him off the bed.

“Hide?” Derek hushed back, panicked. “Hide where?”

And Stiles was aware that shoving the man into his closet would only work for so long. 

“Do you know whose car is outside?” the Sheriff asked, and Stiles could faintly hear him sliding off his jacket, throwing his keys in the bowl, taking off his shoes.

Stiles fell out of bed with a thump in his rush, legs still a little wobbly. 

“Stiles?” his dad called, obviously having heard.

“I’m fine! Just being my normal clumsy self! Ha-ha!” which was the fakest laugh he’d ever heard. Derek sent him a look and Stiles flailed at him in frustration. Derek was tugging on his jeans and shirt and jacket, belt and underwear in one hand, shoes and socks in the other. Stiles finally found some clean pajamas to throw on. 

“Did you have someone over?” his dad asked from the kitchen.

“Out the window,” Stiles harshed, herding him out.

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

“You have a better idea?” Stiles asked, and Derek didn’t so they opened the window for Derek to hop out of. 

“What the fuck is...” Stiles could barely hear his dad say, and then a shout of, “Stiles, is there come on my kitchen counter?!”

Stiles froze, and he grabbed Derek’s arm, forcing him to stay. “You are not making me face this by myself.”

Derek looked sick. “I’m going to die.” he realized. He dropped his things on the ground.

“I’m going to die way before you do if we die.” Stiles told him, dragging him to the open bedroom door. “We can bone in heaven if you fuck this up.”

“If _I_ fuck this up?” Derek repeated, enraged. “You’re the one who came on the kitchen counter!”

“And whose fault is that?” 

“Stiles, who's up there with you?” the Sheriff called, voice careful, barely hiding his anger.

“Uh, just... Okay, we’re coming down.” Stiles answered. He looked at Derek and then took his hand. Derek held back tightly. “We’re gonna need a Christmas miracle.” he told him.

Derek looked completely furious. “Now is _not_ the time.” he hissed.

But he didn’t let go. And when Stiles lead them out of his bedroom, Derek’s hand squeezed his, and he was pretty sure they were gonna make it through this just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Derek accidentally claws Stiles's hips up a bit. Stiles feels generally fine about the whole thing, while Derek is pretty upset. The surprise knotting is for both parties. Neither knew that could happen - and it's generally an unpleasant surprise. And, the word "stupid" is used casually - just in case you want a heads up for that. 
> 
> Merry (belated) Christmas, you guys! I am so so sorry this is late! I hope it's not too weird that I posted it anyway. 
> 
> Happy holidays, all of you. I hope you're all safe and warm and happy.
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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